


Stand by you

by Miss Hiraya (Miss_Hiraya)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky is just lonely and sad, Canon Typical Violence, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint is not an avenger, Ensemble Cast, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, M/M, Nightmares, Not Beta Read, Temporary Character Death, Wanda and Pietro are cute lil bbys, Winged!Clint, and Uncle Tony, and basically everyone - Freeform, different first meeting, enhanced!Clint, im so sorry, sea of angst, they love cuddles, they love old man Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-07-24 13:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7510678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Hiraya/pseuds/Miss%20Hiraya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky rescues his guardian angel in the least expected place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "And I know now, love, if your wings are broken  
> Borrow mine 'til yours can open, too  
> 'Cause I'm gonna stand by you." - Rachel Platten, Stand by You

The Winter Soldier does not remember a lot of things. The things he does remember, he wishes they wouldn’t make his head hurt so badly and his insides turn acid.

Captain America is on his heels, and he’s not sure if the super soldier is on him because they were friends or because the world is threatened by the Winter Soldier. It doesn’t matter and it shouldn’t, because he’s not really planning on letting the captain and co. catch up to him, anyway.

For now, he’s currently raiding every HYDRA base he can get his hands on. It doesn’t really do much except hopefully cutting off its several heads and let it stay that way for a while. And if he succeeds from there, well, he doesn’t really have a plan after that. He’ll probably die half-way through this.

It’s difficult, with all the memories haunting him from time to time, and staying vigilant and barely sleeping. Each base holds their own horrors: things that made him feel filthier thinking he helped HYDRA in these.

And this is not different.

The soldier finds himself on the last level of the facility, looking at the whole expanse of the dark room. A strong acrid smell hits him, and he forces himself not to throw up right there. There are sounds of metal clanging and screeching against each other. But what made his breath catch in his throat was the sight of a huge cell just in front of him, and a person behind the bars. Skinny, filthy, and wounded, the person looks at him from a distance with intense blue eyes and the chains that bound him sound quietly. That’s when he notices the pair of large brown wings slightly off on the person’s back.

This is the how he brought with him a human experiment to his safe house.

He didn’t mean it, no. It wasn’t even in his plan for he knew it would only cause his position to be compromised. He had mean to release the person- a male- from the chains and let him escape so the soldier can freely blow up the place. He had intended to leave. But then he saw the guy not really moving from his spot like any sane prisoner would when given the chance to escape. The soldier glanced at the other swiftly, and discovered that he literally can’t stand with a bunch of thick rods planted on each feet. Later, when he’s done debating on whether to leave a living HYDRA experiment exposed to the even more suspicious government or not,  he discovered the wings attached to the guy’s back was also crooked in more than six places.

The soldier thought of many things but decides it’s useless to know how things happened when it was more productive to deal with the aftermath.

So here he is, stitching the guy up and not either of them making a conversation. Which was fine, if not a little annoying that the only response he gets is a nod, shake, or a stare. At least the guy understands what he is saying, it seems. The guy also didn’t protest earlier when he proceeded to clean the grime and whatever it was that clung to him; he needed them to look normal, after all. All that time, the soldier only a got a pair of blue eyes watching him eerily and not a sound was heard even when they had to do an impromptu surgery.

The soldier- James, he tells himself (he’s only the soldier when facing HYDRA, if only to fulfill the irony of having something they created turning against them)- cuffs him all the same, even if he deduces the other is too wounded to attempt an escape. Afterwards, they share two cups of instant noodles in silence, before James speaks again.

“You have a name?” He hopes whatever damage done to the guy didn’t extend to his memories. It’s a pretty high expectation considering HYDRA but he can’t help it.

The guy with blonde hair now more noticeable without filth in it, looks up to him again doing that eerie stare. He nods slightly, hesitantly. He fumbles with his hands for a few moments, before giving up and ducks his head. “Clint…”

The guy who says his name is Clint speaks in a whisper which is still a huge progress since James initially thought he guy was mute, or deaf, or something.

“I’m James.” He says, ignoring the voice in his head that tells him otherwise. The name sounds foreign to him sometimes.

Clint works his lips as if to repeat what James had said, before accompanying it with a sound the second time. James thinks of it as nothing and instead says, “Get some sleep. We move out tomorrow.”

James scoots to his side of the room, and puts his back against the wall to get as much view as he can. He sees Clint do the same, curling into his wings which looks more white than brown now even in moonlight. Neither of them lie down, but Clint does fall asleep.

Alone in his thoughts, he absently thinks of the other guy who’s unfortunate to land in this mess. The guy seems pliant and trusting to an extent, at least enough to fall asleep in the presence of the stranger who just massacred an entire facility. Then again, he’s practically saved the guy, so maybe the trust is founded. On the other hand, Clint probably doesn’t know of the Winter Soldier, or perhaps doesn’t recognize what he looks like. Still, it’s unnerving to have another person in the same room as him that he can’t read quite well. It makes James feel more conscious and keeps him on his feet. The guy maybe wounded and weak now, but who knows what HYDRA did to alter his body aside from attaching an apparently working set of wings.

He thinks of what came to him that made him decide that bringing a stranger with him was a good idea. What was he thinking?? Now he’ll have to worry for two people. He doesn’t even know what’s up with this guy.

Right.

He needs to fix this soon.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this contains a lot of time-skips.

It’s only four days, but James discovers that Clint may have a version of the serum inside him aside from the wings thing. It’s the only explanation for the inhumanely fast healing. Any other ordinary human would have been dead from infection by now, or at least take twice the time to heal but apparently that’s not the case for Clint. His stubbornness may have have helped him deal with the healing process. Also, wings apparently have a few useful tricks such as the ability to hide itself in sight. It confirms the thought of Clint as an enhanced. It works on James’ favour, now that he wouldn’t have to feel too guilty leaving the guy behind.

He resolves to leave at dawn without telling the guy.

But as luck would have it, he finds Clint awake and catches him looking as he is about to go for the door. It’s the same stare he’s received two days ago, but he doesn’t know why he feels uneasy about it now. None of them speak for a few beats, but James caves in first. “There’s a city not far from here. I left a couple of bucks on the table for you to use. Start somewhere new.”  

“I’m coming with you.” Clint says and although it’s still a bit too timid, there’s an edge to his voice that’s a pleasant change from the last brief conversations they had. His eyes, still blue and clear even in the dawn’s light, glint like steel. James cannot help but marvel at it, until the meaning of those words hit him.

“There are people after me, and they want me dead.” James answers back, tone even.

“I know. I know you’re the Winter Soldier who defected from HYDRA and is now taking revenge on them.” The blond says. “I’m coming with you.”

Well. At least Clint knows who he is. Although, with that fact clear, it’s enough to send more questions in his mind. Nevertheless, he shakes his head.

“I work alone.” He doesn’t mean it to come out as icy as it did, but it’s too late to consider that. Clint flinches at the tone, but he doesn’t waver in is next reply. “I won’t get in your way… I promise… I just… I need to do this, too.”

And James does understand that, at least. HYDRA also owes a lot to Clint, and James is not the right person to deny him of that. He takes only a moment to reconsider his decision to team up with a complete stranger whom he hasn’t even seen how he does in a fight. He nods, and for the first time he sees Clint smile a little. He doesn’t know why it’s suddenly means something to him, even if a huge part of him still thinks this has been another bad idea.

“Thank you.”

* * *

 

He gets the answer to his inquiry when they raid the next nearest HYDRA base. He initially questioned Clint’s first preference for using bow and arrows for a weapon but after seeing the guy’s aim and unorthodox combat moves in play, he finds the concern unnecessary. Clint moves fluidly, with a grace of a gymnast but with a strength of a beast. His wings, cleaner since their stay the motel, are stark white and a contrast to the blood surrounding them. He’s a bit uncontrolled, but it’s still a surprising feat considering he’s fairly certain Clint has been in that cell for long.

Later Clint explains shyly, ducking his head and muttering almost silently to himself that before his brother sold him off to HYDRA, he grew up in a circus and had an act as the World’s Greatest Marksman. It’s as if Clint fully expects him to laugh, but instead Bucky just sort of shrugs and tells him he did well.

The second one almost goes down the shit hole, but eventually they worked it off.  They actually work well even when they communicate in signs more than words.

The third one happens two weeks after their second, with them on the countryside of Germany. But James should’ve known with the way things go nicely, it’s bound to be bad soon enough.

* * *

 

Sometime at night before their mission, he wakes up in cold sweat and his throat dry. He tries to make a sound anyway, but not a sound comes out of him. In fact he couldn’t even move. This didn’t happen before; usually he wakes up screaming and kicking as if his nightmares just manifested themselves in reality. But no, this time it’s like his nightmare had gripped his entire being that it sends panic in his bones. He tries desperately to move, but it feels like the air is leaving him and this is a feeling he is too familiar with.

He thinks of the dead is coming to take what has been robbed of them. Their faces screwed in eternal mocking, they come to him and claw his guts out. Their names echo in his head it hurts. It didn’t matter what he does now,  he’ll never be able to make up for all that  he is done and it’s over… it’s over, he’s _falling and falling please let this end-_

A sound startles him from his thoughts, immediately jerking him back to reality and away, away from the land where his nightmares take place. It doesn’t quite sound right in a field where the corpses stare accusingly at him. The sound, the song that sounds more like a lullaby, should belong somewhere else.

Somewhere safe. Somewhere warm.

He falls asleep before he knows it. The morning goes on like last night never happened and he's thankful for that at least. James focuses on the mission instead. Their escape hadn’t been pretty, but he finds it bearable when Clint takes him up into the air and above where the clouds are.

* * *

It's been awhile since they started this whole ordeal. They may have proved to be a good team when doing their missions but aside from that, more often silence reigns between the two of them. James has more days where he gets lost inside his head to the point that it's hard to come back to reality sometimes. And Clint is either timid or just the guy who prefers staring out into space, anywhere, or anything like it's been the first time he sees them. James doesn't know just how much time the other guy was kept isolated as one of HYDRA's test subjects (lab rats) but he figures that even if he guesses right it would not have made any difference anyway- except him feeling a little more empathetic to Clint: a feeling he is not ready to dwell for too long for reasons.

Either way, their personas aren't really a good combination for casual conversations.  

He catches Clint doing that silent stare again, this time it’s aimed at his arm. A part of James feels shame, but another part of him feels affronted by it. The tight space they had no choice to fit in to after their escape did not help him shrug off the scrutiny, too.

Clint, noticing James’ discomfort, immediately looks up to him. Embarrassed, he ducks his head and mutters a soft but hurried apology.

“If you have something to say, spit it out.” James says. It comes out cold as per usual, but he softens the blow by nudging the other on the shoulder. Clint shifts nervously.

“Does it hurt?” the blond asks. James expected a lot of questions, but not that. He doesn’t really know how to take that question as. So he answers it honestly. He’s got no reason to lie, right? If the Winter Soldier was here, he’d straightly clam up. But he’s James now. “No. It’s pretty numb actually.”

Clint’s eyes light up a bit and nods. Silence reigns over them again, but it’s not unwelcoming. Instead, the silence just stretches for hours until Clint shifts and makes his wings appear. He ruffles them for a bit just for a stretch before he tucks them around him. James had seen this habit of a couple of times, and it always catches his attention. But it was always at a distance, unlike now where he has a close-up view of the intricate details of the wings. They’re white with streaks of silver, and they’re incredibly soft. Perhaps the sight that he’s drawn to the most is Clint, and the way his blue eyes look from this distance; the way his expression softens when he’s tucked around his wings; the way he sighs contentedly around it. He looks so vulnerable and something to be protected. It tugs at something that’s buried deep in James and he doesn’t know what to think about it.

He shakes his head, and puts his hand over his face.

“The blizzard won’t let up until morning.” Clint says around a yawn. “Aren’t you cold? “

“No. It’s okay.” He brushes off the concern automatically.  “Sleep. I’ll keep watch of the weather.”

Clint does fall asleep. The weather gets better in the morning but it’s not the reason James is woken up. Rather, it’s because he’d never remembered himself feeling so warm like this, enveloped by a large blanket of feathers. Clint is sleeping still, head leaning against James’ shoulder. James is puzzled as to how he got there, even more as he feels an unmistakable warmth in his chest as Clint’s soft breaths filled the otherwise empty room.

* * *

 

On the worst nights they don't sleep at all and instead grip knives and guns so tight as their senses go hyperalert. Sometimes they don't sleep because they can't, both wanting to be distracted by anything but sleep. Aside from those, James and Clint usually take turns on night duty.

Clint is a rather silent company, more times his unreadable gaze would look out into the city and would just stay in his position like a statue. Sometimes, he absently fiddles with his wings. Sometimes, he hums quietly when James twitches in his sleep- no doubt having a nightmare.

Sometimes, Clint is too invisible James even forgets of him in the same room. When he sees the other on the other side of the room with stark white wings visible, James thinks for a second about guardian angels with unwavering blue eyes and blond hair.

James forces the thoughts away. Even if guardian angels were real, he's sure that a killer like him doesn't really deserve having one by his side except probably an Angel of Death collecting the souls of those he kills (or waiting for him to die, too).

_Stupid, childish thoughts._

* * *

 

 They have had close encounters with Steve during their raids. James is grateful for Clint not asking about the way he’d stare at a picture of a skinny, pre-serum Steve Rogers and a much taller boy with the boyish smile and confident looks beside him who looks nothing like the man who James is now.

* * *

 

“Where did you learn that song?” Bucky unknowingly breaks out the question one night, having just found his calm once again after hearing Clint’s soft-spoken song.

Clint looks up guiltily, eyes wide and ears steadily burning, and hesitantly answers. “In the circus we had Sarah, who was one of the older ones and was kind enough to teach me her Gaelic mother tongue.”

Well, what a coincidence. He chuckles quietly to himself. He had just woken up from his dream/memory and he remembers the name Sarah that the memory of her makes the nightmare that followed it a little bearable. “Steve’s mom has Gaelic heritage, too. Her name was Sarah.”

Clint looks surprised, and smiles slightly. “That’s a funny coincidence… Although, I would like to think that Captain America’s mom wasn’t a scary bearded lady who cooks terribly.”

The thought of it takes a laugh out of James, and he shakes his head still grinning. “Scary, yes. But not in that way. Her chicken soups always tasted great, but I remember Mrs. Rogers has this kind of smile that made Steve Rogers fear for his dear life.” He is surprised to hear himself tell one of his more fond memories of Brooklyn and not feel heavy about it afterwards. The words came out easily, and somehow the way Clint’s eyes light in mirth while he huffs a laugh helped him erase the doubtful thoughts in his mind. It’s the first time he’s heard the blond laugh, and it sounds nice. He feels something warm settle in his gut knowing he just made someone else laugh.

More importantly, he realizes, it’s not actually that hard to talk with Clint like this.

“It’s true.” James finds himself say, “That punk somehow always manages to find trouble for himself, but he was never really afraid of anyone. When we see her waiting at the door smiling though, Steve would always pale a little more it’s pathetic.” He remembers that day, when they’re both sporting black eyes and scratches and Sarah was there waiting for them. “He’d swear in his Gaelic tongue only to apologize when she calls him out on it.  You’d never thought an endearment would sound scary, but Sarah Rogers seemed to make it work.” He remembers her embraces, patience and kindness, tasty chicken soups, and warm presence that gave love not only to his son but also to his best friend. He remembers her silent and sweet anger that made them apologize immediately. He remembers them doing the same three days later because trouble always seemed to follow Steve around and James couldn’t really leave the small, asthmatic kid whose body is weaker than his bullheaded spirit. He remembers them, the innocent days of his past and finds himself telling Clint about them.

Clint, who’s never asked but is eager to listen; who looks livelier than the first time they met now that there’s a smile on his face that’s starting to show something more than his timid self.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because they’re jagged and rough on the edges, full of sharp things and broken parts, but the world doesn’t understand except for them; the world is still strange to them, and sometimes the only refuge they need is the company of each other. And for them, that is already so much than they think they deserve.

Days, weeks, months passed them by. What they do is slow but steady, this building of friendship over silence and eventually soft-spoken conversations.

They’re jagged and rough on the edges, and James is still too cold at times while Clint is too invisible like he doesn’t exist sometimes ( _I won’t get in your way… I promise… I just… I need to do this, too)_ but the progress is there, and James finding himself looking forward for every bit of time they share like the world doesn’t matter in those moments.

Because they’re jagged and rough on the edges, full of sharp things and broken parts, but the world doesn’t understand except for them; the world is still strange to them, and sometimes the only refuge they need is the company of each other. And for them, that is already so much than they think they deserve.

“If you hadn’t told me about your parents, I’d have pegged you both as brothers, even now.” Clint comments as he stitches up a particularly large gash on James’ flesh arm. Earlier, they’ve set Clint’s wings where it had been dislocated and Clint bites his lips enough to draw blood. Now, it’s James’ turn, but flinches, not at the gaping ugly wound but at the question, and looks down on his feet trying to quell the myriad of emotions passing through him.

“Even now that we’re trying to kill each other? This time he meant it to be cutting, but alas it only sounded pathetic and weak.

Clint moves back and settles on his spot by the cold floor. James doesn’t look at the other man, but he feels being watched. When James is too cold, Clint doesn’t seem to mind, as he has been for all of James’ tendency to overthink and be driven by emotions than logic. He doesn’t mind the ice that surrounds James. Only understands and waits, and keep a respectful distance. “And I think he’s not trying to kill you, or hurt you.”

 “And how are you so sure about that? “ James snarls, anger bubbling in his gut. But when he looks up at Clint, he sees blue eyes cloud in something darker like the way his own eyes do when he faces a mirror.

Clint continues to speak, “I know what it looks like when two brothers want to kill each other.”

The honesty and the weight of those words makes James’ chest feel heavier and he works himself to ask about it, but the words die on his tongue and instead he buries his head on his knees and doesn’t remember falling asleep.

In his dreams Steve Rogers is there, all scrawny and sickly but whose blue eyes burned brighter than most people in their time. Steve who had small fists and almost breakable limbs, but had a stronger, unyielding soul than most people twice his size. Steve, who called him his best pal, and treated him as a brother.

The brother whose terrified face is the last thing he sees when he falls off the train. After the fall, Bucky had been no more. The Winter Soldier was born out of his death.

* * *

 

He dreams of falling yet again, Clint wakes him up with a firm grip on his shoulder. Before he gets a hold of himself, he draws a punch and for a moment the Winter Soldier takes over him. He doesn’t have any memory of it after that when he’s brought back to his senses with his back leaning heavily against the wall.

There’s an all familiar bruise on Clint’s neck who has his wings spread out tensely but otherwise still alive, and he is suddenly filled with dread of what he’s done. His lungs start to heave.

“Hey, I’m okay. It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have woken you up like that... It’s just that you weren’t waking up when I tried to do it the usual way and you were hurting yourself-“Clint catches himself, eyes widening at the realization of his own words. James looks down instinctively at his flesh arm which was indeed bleeding. Clint stumbles with words for a second, but then eases himself. “Can I..? “ He looks at James’ bloody arm, concern radiating off his features.

It’s not the way it should be happening. Clint shouldn’t be feeling concern but fear. The Winter Soldier almost killed him, and the thought of what if he succeeded almost made him lose it once again. Clint calls to him, his name sounding so kind and gentle that he thinks he doesn’t deserve it.

But he finds himself craving for it.

Without a gesture of disagreement, Clint immediately comes to his side and gingerly takes his arm. His hands are steady and efficient as he works, and even when it’s done Clint stays with him. A huge wing tucks his shaking form beside the blond man.

Is this what it feels like? To be safe? James doesn’t know but he’s too tired to think about anything so he cries as and doesn't stop until he's too tired to do that too.

Clint’s soft repeat of apologies is the last thing he hears before he passes out again, even if he tried desperately not to.

Oddly enough, he doesn’t dream of falling anymore. He dreams instead of flying, with someone’s arms around him and a pair of huge white wings above him. He dreams of clear blue skies fitting in someone’s irises, and dreams of protective guardian angels with blond hair and shy smile.

* * *

“About Steve…” James opens up one day when they’re driving to their next destination. Clint eyes him with apprehension, still feeling guilty despite James telling him what happened wasn’t his fault and that James should be one apologizing instead. He’s fighting against himself trying not to look away, and James remembers the stranger he rescued in that room and how much that man has grown confidence in himself slowly but steadily.

James doesn’t dare to claim he had help in that, but it makes him feel a little more fortunate to be the person who sees that behind all the self-effacing defenses is a strong soul and gentle heart.

The raw, genuine concern in Clint’s eyes almost makes him falter. But when he tells Clint that he’s giving it a try, he sees the other’s face light up in relief. It makes James think he’s made a right decision.

He also thinks of kissing Clint right there and then, but he scratches the thought away. When did this feeling started, anyway? It’s going strong, and he thinks it’s not something he’s threatened about. It’s strange. Weird. Still, the happy feeling in his gut doesn’t quite go away for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh hallo, early update :) hope you continue to like this one. This is a bit of a slow build, but this is definitely going somewhere.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James feels like the chilly breeze suddenly warming- or is it his face? Nevertheless, he struggles to create a decent reply.
> 
> “… and if I want you to stay with me?”
> 
> Clint looks positively ethereal against the pale moon’s light, his smile making James’ heart stutter. If he's not thoroughly convinced about the angels' existence before, this proof proved enough and James is now a believer.
> 
> “I will."

James pillows his head on Clint’s lap, looking and feeling all sorts of miserable. He feels too hot and too cold at the same time, and he wishes the serum would work a little faster to fight the infection in his body right now. There wasn’t much time, and they almost didn’t make it to their escape. James, high on adrenaline as they were running away from the facility seconds from blowing up, didn’t notice the thick, rusty blade stuck on his side until Clint practically hauls his ass in the air and pulls the torn muscles.

 

They barely managed to escape but still his respect for Clint’s bullheadedness only grew more when he somehow manages to get them into a cargo ship, putting a sea between them and whoever is chasing after them.

“You should have left. You should have escaped on your own, Clin-“He hisses through between his clenched teeth. Because Clint could have left him any time, James knows that for a fact. If he still thinks he owes James his life, then the numerous times he’s saved the soldier’s ass should’ve already covered that debt. Not that James is even counting. Still, he’s pretty much made it clear that Clint is free to leave any time he wants. He’s literally the one with wings between the two of them, and he could easily escape this hell if he wants to. James is tired and confused and delirious and he doesn’t want Clint to feel trapped because unlike HYDRA, this thing between them is not bound by contract or force. Clint could have built a life, made a good use of his second chance to live while he can instead of searching for vengeance and not so subtly pick up after James’ mess. So why is Clint holding his hand? Why is he still here?

“No. I’m not going anywhere.” Clint whispers so low and soft if only not to worsen the headache James is suffering through.

“You _should.”_ James’ head swims in pain, and he can’t help the twitches he makes nor the whimpers that come out of him every time the ship tilts a little too much. Clint doesn’t look too good either with a nasty cut to the side of his head, but the blond just looks down on him with those blue eyes and cards his fingers on James’ sweat-soaked hair, telling him they’re going to be alright. Repeatedly telling him _I’m staying, and in the morning I’ll still be there, everything’s going to be alright, I got you_.

“You should have.” James protests, because he thinks this is better than his mind focused on the world of pain he’s in.

The large blanket of soft white feathers is a small but welcome comfort to him, and just like that the one-sided argument ends. Clint holds his hand tighter briefly, and gently brushes his thumb over James’ knuckles. “I don’t want to.”

James thinks of the many times he could have been dead if he didn’t have someone to watch his back like Clint does, and he also thinks of saying the words stuck on his throat but the pain is unbearable and Clint’s hands are the only things that tethers him to reality. He is too tired to say anything but he feels Clint’s hands holding his through the long night; feels Clint's warmth blanketing his body through the other's wings hovering protectively; and he hears Clint’s voice soothing him through the haze of pain;

In the end, his stubbornness just crumples and he stops thinking about anything but what he has now- _Clint and safety._

 

* * *

 

James sees Clint cry in his sleep, his body curling into a tight ball that it should be painful more than anything. The blond is excruciatingly as silent as he can, almost as if he is afraid that someone might hear him. If James hadn’t been up that night, he wouldn’t have noticed it.

Something breaks inside James at the sight of the other’s grief, but he doesn’t know how to deal with it. The ache in his chest shift into something sharper than before and it’s another addition to the feelings he can’t quite decipher. Unsure of what he’s about to do,  he carefully comes near to Clint and gently runs his flesh hand through the trembling set of feathers covering the other man protectively. It takes a lot of time and a lot of patience since Clint instinctively pulls away from the touch as if it’d hurt him, even when James tried his hardest to be gentle it almost seemed to have the opposite. He thinks of Clint not bothered by the ice that James is sometimes, but turns out to fear the heat as if the slightest of touch can burn him like Icarus did – and wasn’t that another unsurprising coincidence that seems to happen more between them as days pass?

But Clint to James had always been warm and reassuring. Why would he not accept the same for himself?

James says Clint’s name in the space between them, hoping the other man would recognize his voice, hoping the other man can distinguish the tone apart from whatever monster that tortures him in his dreams- because James does know how it feels to be torn between worlds and realities born out of their past. He does know how terrifying it is that it takes so much of whatever left of himself to convince himself that it is not _real_ , _he’s not back in the chair, back in the cell, back in that room and bound to that table-_

Eventually Clint does loosen the muscles controlling his wings until they retract to his back and settle there. James wipes the other’s tear-soaked cheeks: a gesture that the sleeping man comes to appreciate by way of snuggling slightly to his hand as if to seek warmth from there.

James feels as if something is fluttering beneath his ribcage. It’s the same feeling whenever he catches the other’s shy smiles and laugh. It’s warming him in ways he cannot even explain. Is this because he had been so lonely he can’t remember how much human contact can be so comforting? Is this because Clint had been the only person who’s been this close to him since he broke out of the Winter Soldier persona? Does Clint even think about these things and feel the same?

James thinks of how broken they both are that even in their sleep they’re not really having a break from the nightmare that was their past. He feels a little sadder, but at the same time comforted by the thought that at least they aren’t alone to face their inner demons.

 

* * *

 

 

They’re on shakeout now, waiting for that perfect moment to put a bullet through the brain of the bigger heads of HYDRA in a busy city of London. So far, this was the most tolerable place they’ve been in and it seems to be pleased just seeing the lights of the city decorate the fair evening.

He thinks of the life they could have had, and the life they could have after this. He’s told Clint that after all of this is done, he’s going to let Steve find him and there he doesn’t know what happens. But he really hasn’t heard from Clint about his plans after this, if there is an after this.

 

“It looks beautiful, doesn’t it?” Clint says, still gazing at the city below, a small smile on his lips. “The lights remind me of the circus, when everything was a lot simpler. “ Blue eyes close slowly, as if trying to grasp the memory and relives them in his head.

 

“I remember going there once...” James says, “But it’s really blurry, and I don’t think we had much compared to your time.”

 

Clint pauses, before huffing amusedly. “Sometimes I forget that you’re older than me by seventy years.” His eyes shine in teasing, even though his words are still a bit shy. It’s fulfilling to see Clint coming out of his shell slowly, even more when it’s James who sees it. It makes James feel a little proud for the other guy. Underneath the extremely shy and timid personality, Clint is actually a little shit.

 

James snorts, “Maybe you’re older than me of you forget such things, punk.”

 

Clint raises an eyebrow, and James punches him lightly on the shoulder before they share a laugh.

Clint tells him a lot of tales from Carson’s Circus of Wonder, where he was known as Hawkeye the World’s Greatest Marksman. He tells James the silly stories and the eccentric personas.  He describes the sights, the rides, the food, the smell, and the ambiance as much as he could. He doesn’t dwell much on Barney which only appropriate since a bitter memory like that doesn’t have a place in this type of conversation.

James watches as Clint fills with life as he relives his fond memories of home. The way his eyes glint with the city lights mirrored in them, the way he looks comfortable and at peace, the way he sounds full of mirth and positivity.

 

James keeps a small, happy smile even later as they board they bid their goodbyes to the city.

 

* * *

 

“What are you going to do after?” James surprises himself with his own words, slipping from his lips as the car radio plays softly in the background. The wind is chilly outside, but the stars are out and the moon is clear and calm as James remembers. It’s not like they couldn’t afford a room somewhere in town and Clint had only said it out of his idle thoughts anyway, but James thinks it’s a good idea have a night where they wouldn’t worry about anything else except catch their breaths from the constant strain and vigilance- there is, after all, only so much they can do until they wear themselves down. In the end, they settled for the night inside their stolen car, windows open for the evening breeze and the threats of HYDRA far behind their minds.

Clint had flown him twice, up in the clouds where he feels his breath catch not necessarily because the thinning oxygen but at the feeling of being weightless and the sight of the world so tiny below them that strangely makes his chest loosen up. Clint had shown him, twice, how much he’s missed of the world despite its unfairness and cruelty; this peace, and freedom warming his skin as the wind embraces them. Clint had shown him, the feeling of being in the air, but not falling and plummeting like in his dreams.

And in this way, too, Clint shows him, that there are things easily taken for granted in favor of rushing and sprinting towards the horizon. This piece of silence and simplicity.

(James wants to ask Clint, why and how, and where this tenacity stemmed from; why and how he’s managed to not fall into despair despite being broken to pieces, why and how he’s still found it in himself to hold on to these simple things like this contentment with just the moon and stars as their company and cherish them like he hadn’t been stripped away of them by years of isolation. Instead he marvels at the other silently inside his head, and blurts out a question instead.)

It’s a question that shouldn’t have fit in this kind of atmosphere, James scolds himself, but Clint is always patient with him just as he had always been with James’ mood swings.

The blond peeks up at him under the thin blanket he’s wrapped in (and it’s all sorts of endearing, how his blue eyes blink at him owlishly to adjust against the dark, but James isn’t about to make himself more awkward than he already is) and is silent for a while, considering the question.

“I… don’t know. “ He answers honestly. Clint hasn’t thought that far obviously, but the question reminds him that he should. Clint looks up the dark skies as if he’s asking it for an answer. It doesn’t have an answer, at least not a direct one.

“Well, I don’t know, too...” James swallows past the looming anxiety,

“... but I think I’d go wherever you want me to.” Clint mutters quietly, almost too quietly that James almost doesn’t catch it.

James feels like the chilly breeze suddenly warming- or is it his face? Nevertheless, he struggles to create a decent reply.

“… and if I want you to stay with me?”

Clint looks positively ethereal against the pale moon’s light, his smile making James’ heart stutter. If he's not thoroughly convinced about the angels' existence before, this proof proved enough and James is now a believer.

“I will.”

 

* * *

 

Looking back at that night, James still can’t believe what he’s said and more importantly what Clint said. But really, as much as he’s perpetually embarrassed by how he handled that conversation poorly, he really can’t help himself think about the future where Clint is there, step beside him like he’s always been- wings on his back like some sort of a guardian to James, and the hope it brings to him.

It’s something he looks forward to, he admits to himself, if only to make himself believe that things will be alright, eventually. He finds it in himself not as scared and terrified of what the future holds like he should be, because somehow he’s not alone.

He likes to think that the influence goes both ways as he looks over to Clint and sees the blond growing surer of his actions and braver in his step every passing day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *peeks* hello, I'm so sorry about the delay. It's midterms week and whatever I had in mind for this chapter didn't come out until now- so I had to throw in some edits.
> 
>  
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this little one :>
> 
> //whispers// Next update will show why I put the tags in this story. //runs//


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint finally smiles at ease, like he'd been waiting for this the whole time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks at tags pointedly*  
> *points out tags not-so-discreetly*

It was going well, they were getting out of there unscathed. But then they came. There were a lot of them compared to only two of them. Were they expecting them at the first place? He panicks in his head.

James fights harder, blood boiling and heart thumping. Clint is at his side, a steady presence covering his back.  He thinks Clint is his guardian angel, a war angel. Isn’t that a comforting thought? Clint is every bit of graceful and deadly, it’s breathtaking. His wings are covered with freckles of blood like a white canvass sprayed in crimson. It should not look as appealing but it does to James. The muscles controlling them are strong, and if this is another time James would have stopped to marvel just how magnificent they move and tremble. Clint’s eyes are set in a sharp glint, blue hues cutting and void of compassion and timidity it usually contains.

He does look beautiful, despite the morbid place they’re in. He looks like he belongs here like a warrior destined to his battlefield; at the same time he looks like a complete irony of it all, standing out amidst the gunshots, blood-curling screams, and crimson painted grounds.

It comes to him, like the last times it did, how he’s so lucky and thankful.

Remembering the conversation, James feels hope bloom in his chest despite the chaos around him like a wild flower among the thorny bushes. It makes something in his heart settle knowing that whatever happens, even after this raid, after this whole mission, Clint will stay by his side. The thought is a little selfish and childish, but he decided on not dwelling about that now. He needed to focus, after all.

He fights harder now, because he now he sees what’s ahead of him a little bit more reassuring. He fights harder now, because he knows Clint will be his support, wings poised in all its deadly glory and drenched in dirt and blood.

But then he’s brought to his knees, and even though Clint is screaming at him, all but striking his way to him by mercilessly slicing through with his feathery appendages, it was drowned by the horrified feeling of detachment as the words spoken out of nowhere trigger something in his brain. It took over his senses, his body, and then his mind.

The Winter Soldier wakes and everything goes red.

* * *

 

_Mission Objective: Purge resistance._

_Target: Winged enhanced, blond hair, blue eyes, height 5’7, lean build, almost perfect accuracy, subject to super soldier serum imperfect version._

_Strengths: Long range combat, aerial advantage, agility._

_Weaknesses: hand to hand combat, short reach, untrained._

_Target is at Level 4, East wing. Approaching. Kill on sight._

* * *

_The target is fast and nimble, slippery and stealthy and deals fast-landing blows. He calls a name._

_“James.”_

_“James, I know you’re in there.”_

_The soldier ignores them. His name is not James. He is the Winter Soldier._

_The target engages in hand to hand. The soldier takes advantage, yet the target catches him off guard and he carves a hole to the opposite wall. The soldier is dragged up in the air, but he retaliates by clawing his hands at the large wings hovering above them. He grabs at them by the metal arm and pins the man back to ground. The target is down but is quickly standing._

_The soldier pulls at them, and he hears the snap. The target screams in pain, but sweeps his feet off the ground. The soldier lands heavily on his back, feathers crumpling and falling from his hands and around them, but he catches his leg and his metal fingers dig down to them before he throws him on the wall._

_There is blood on his hands, on the floor, on the concrete wall. The target stands up, but the soldier is quicker to pin him back harshly. His fingers close around his throat. And he watches, as the air run out of him. He feels nothing else but detachment._

_He doesn’t see the pipe smashed to his side. The soldier staggers back but efficiently produces a knife to counter the next blow. The sound of metal fills the hall for what feels like an eternity as they exchange blows, drawing blood and pulling grunts from each other._

_The target loses by a slight of hand, the knife stabbing deep into the back of the man’s thigh. The soldier snaps the pipe in half from the other and slams the blade repeatedly into the other’s abdomen. Then he slams him by the head. The soldier is onto the target, weight keeping him on the ground, as he drills the sharp end of the pipe to either side of the troublesome appendages._

_The target is an enhanced, that much is apparent, but now he is not the threat HYDRA expects him to be._

_The soldier has won. But the objective is not yet achieved._

_The target calls out the name again. James._

_The soldier’s name is not James. He has no name. He has no friend. He knows not this man. He Is HYDRA’s property and so is the target. The target must know this, and he must know that the soldier has come to take him back to their masters._

_The fallen man struggles, gasps in pain as blood rolls out of the corner of his lips. The target squeaks out, and reaches a hand. It does not threaten him in any way._

_It does not intend to hurt, but the target touches his face with bloody hands._

_“James, don’t cry. Please.”_

_The soldier stills. There is blood on his face, but there are tears rolling down his cheeks, too. The soldier is not taught to spill weaknesses, much less shed a tear. He absolutely does not know this. He does not know how he’s doing this. But he notices how they burn and how his chest feels heavy all of the sudden._

_Now this is is a threat._

_“James.” He calls again._

_No, he shakes his head. He is not James.  He is the Winter Soldier and he does not feel grief. He does not cry, and his chest should not hurt without any physical wounds._

_He is not James. He is the Winter Soldier and he does not know any man with blue eyes and blond hair. He does not remember any person with a set of large white wings that covered him in the cold nights, arms strong enough to fly with the soldier in the clouds, eyes as blue as the clear skies in Brooklyn, smile bright a—_

* * *

James wakes up from a nightmare. He has dreamt of reverting back to the Winter Soldier again, only this time he’s gone far enough and killed Clint with his own hands.

 

But Clint is under him, and the smile he gives is red and pale as death.

 

And the nightmare comes true.

James’ world collapses under his feet, and he’s falling. This time, there is no one to catch him. “Clint- Clint, I—Wh- I... I’m so sorry—what have I-“James scrambles away, shaking and panicking. He doesn’t have the words to say and he’s never been so horrified seeing the red in his hands and the red on Clint. His brain stops and like a broken film, replays the sight of red and the sound of broken bones and harsh breaths.

He splutters an incoherent string of apologies that soon dissolve into unrecognizable words and pathetic sounds. But he cannot even begin to calm himself. Clint shivers and coughs up more blood. Immediately regretting his reflex action, James comes close to the wounded man and tries to stem the blood flowing out of him in rivers with terribly unstable palms.

 

“I’m so sorry, Clint. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Hang in there please. Please-“

 

“Hey, James.” Clint calls in a strained whisper. James’ heart feels like pummeling out of his ribcage and he _can’t breathe-_

“James... Hey, hey it’s okay.”

It’s not okay by any chance. James wants to call him a liar in his head, but he can’t… He wants to believe it’s going to be okay, but it’s not.

He knows because the Soldier knows. He is not a killer if he’s not recognized the face of death by now.  

But he’s not giving up without a fight. He refuses to recognize that face yet, because it’s all he knows to do- because otherwise he’ll have nothing to do and all will be over just as quick as a clean slice through the neck. He cradles Clint’s body close to him and tries steadying them both. He stills, only because Clint’s hands grip him hard enough to hurt.

 

“James, listen. There’s-n..exit.-“ Clint speaks and his words are in stained in blood and it’s not what James wants to hear because Clint’s voice always sounded comfort to him until now.

 

“No! Stop talking bullshit, I’m not going to leave-“The warm red liquid is soaking them both and it practically screams at him there is no hope and that Clint will bleed to his death the moment he makes another move. But it’s not fair so James denies that possibility- that inevitability.

He refuses to recognize the face of Death and the chill surrounding him that begins to throttle his whole body into panic. “You are and you will!” Clint tells him, brings James close enough for their foreheads to bump. Clint’s eyes are blue and fierce, and they are nowhere reassuring as they slowly lose color.

“Listen. I’ve got no time left, I’m sorry but you’ll have to go alone. At the exit, like where we planned before, they’re waiting for you...  They’ll help you where to go. Go to your brother. Your pal, Steve.”

 “I’m not leaving you! Don’t just tell me to go- I’m not- “He can’t finish the sentence, so he shakes his head vehemently even when Clint tries to calm him by putting his hand at the back of his neck. It’s warm, same as Clint’s smile and feathered embraces and midnight lullabies, and it’s something he refuses to let go. He refuses to let Clint go.

 

The footsteps echo in the hall. James feels the overwhelming urge to kill each one of them; he would die but he swears to hell that he is not stopping, not until the rage in his blood calms down or until his last breath is taken from him.

 

Rage is easy. Vengeance is simple. But Clint is not allowing James to fall into these simple things. Not with the way his hand grounds James painfully to reality. “Thank you for finding me in that cell, James.” Clint says, smiling a little while his hand slips from James' neck to his cheek.“I would’ve followed you anywhere, James. I would… I’m sorry I can’t. But thank you for all this time.”

 

He shakes his head. The black abyss that is in Death’s eyes drill straight to James’ soul and he still refuses to acknowledge it. This is not happening. This is just another nightmare. In the next moment, he will hear Clint humming his lab and taking him back to reality.

But Clint is here and this is reality. He cries, sobs harder and holds Clint’s hand on his cheek with his own. Clint's hand is cold and trembling, too. But his eyes are blue. Blue as the first time they met. His face is gentle, like back then under the stars. James’ words fail him, like it always does, but his lips kiss the bloody hand that gave him so much warmth and so many more. He presses a kiss to the Clint’s forehead and whispers what he cannot say out loud.

Clint finally smiles at ease, like he'd been waiting for this the whole time.

James never looks back even when the first round of gunfire fire in the back of his head. His legs work automatically despite the searing pain, and the crushing grief that’s threatening to take what ground is left beneath his feet.

He runs and never looks back.

* * *

 

When he reaches the exit, he finds two kids and immediately they’re on their feet. They’re of the same age, probably eight or nine, a girl and a boy. James’ mind stops asking questions as the kids nod toward him before taking off and expecting him to follow.

 

He runs and never looks back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be cruel but.. 
> 
>  
> 
> Yeah I guess I am. *runs away*


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The feeling creeps up to him and sinks to his core. He doesn’t make the shot any different from the way he plants a bullet to a HYDRA agent, but he feels strange. This must be what Nat tells him about cleaning the red in one’s ledger. Nevertheless, he reaches inside the small pocket on his vest, the one near his heart, and presses his lips to the thumb which had grasped the feather in that small moment. Like a fervent prayer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jeez semis got me like whoa.  
> i'm sorry for the late update!! here, have some fluff.

The twins’ name are Pietro and Wanda. The boy has untamed silver hair while his younger sibling has ordinary brown curls that reaches just past her shoulders. They’re both eight and have identical Sokovian lilts when they speak, but there’s a wide difference of their personalities. Wanda, like her brother, has brown eyes, but hers are wide and innocent whilst the other are sharp with maturity that more often James thinks is unnerving and heartbreaking to see in such a young boy. It’s not difficult to point who’s older with the way Pietro conveys his protectiveness for his sister and mistrust for the both of them. Wanda, despite the shyness (that reminds him of someone it _hurts_ ) is such a sweet kid that James finds sharing with the younger boy the swell of protective instincts over her.

They’re too young and Bucky can’t bear to not take responsibility for the pair of lives that lead him out of the facility that day. Perhaps, it’s also an excuse to himself to have something to focus on other than that day- when he felt a part of him crumble at the sound of gunfire on his heels, leaving Clint there without a time to spare to even witness his final breath.

_No, stop it. You can’t start now. You can’t have a breakdown._

Either way, abandoning them in the open, much less in a foster shelter was out of James’ list of options. Mostly, and most importantly, the kids were not _normal._

Pietro is inhumanely fast. While Wanda’s abilities are not quite defined like her brother’s, she is shown to be able to project scarlet tendrils of energy and has a bit of psychic powers as well. As if that wasn’t a huge problem in itself, James is reminded that they’re no older than eight and therefore their powers are more uncontrolled than helpful for them now. He knows this because he’s had to hold Pietro when he unconsciously zips across the little room he calls a safehouse, and calm Wanda when all the electronics in said room burst into sparks.

He dugs his palms to his pockets, all twitching nerves just by mere thinking about the future. He expects to find his trusty switch blade. Instead, there’s a soft sensation in his grasp in place of the cold metal.

A lone pristine white feather makes his heart break his eyes blur at the same time. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

This is why three days later he finds himself inside an abandoned warehouse holding small, shaking hands on either side, and facing none other than Captain America with Iron Man close behind. This is also why, instead of approaching the blond man with all the words he’s prepared for the other, he voices out his term of surrendering. One, they can do what they want with him but if anyone, SHIELD, even try to lay a hand on the twins James will not hesitate to topple the government; his eyes effectively conveying the unspoken, _I am the Winter Soldier and I can bring governments to the dust if I want to even by the secrets I hold._

Steve Rogers seemed to be a reasonable man, immediately understanding the reason behind his best friend’s condition just by looking at the two small kids currently hiding behind the other. “You have my word.” Iron Man seems to have something to object, but the captain just looks at his companion and ends the conversation before it starts.

When asked about anything else, James racks his brain and finds nothing else. This is it. This is yet another huge decision that he’s sure to change everything now. His heart rabbits in its cage and he hopes the kids don’t notice it. He won’t admit it, but it’s precisely the hands he’s holding that keeps him from bolting out of the warehouse and away where he’d be safe.

_(That place doesn’t exist anymore)_

_(but the promise he made, the one that’s left unspoken, he keeps it and it’s the second thing that keeps his feet right where he’s standing)_

 

* * *

As expected, nothing goes right at the start.

Apparently it’s a real big deal that the Winter Soldier has surrendered himself. The battle begins ugly and messed-up, as people take sides to decide on whether to spare him or kill him. Most of them agree to have the walking threat neutralized, and a few stood for second chances. The days drag on and James’ patience is tested again and again after facing too many interrogations, hearings, and assessments that left James bare save for the feather in his possession that he hides the best that he can. It’s the only thing that keeps the memory of the mistreated but still kind man who once roamed the earth, and he’s going to protect it with his all.

They don’t put him on the chair. Nobody bounds him to the table either. Natasha punched the first doctor who even suggested on testing some drug on him, so there’s that too. There are a lot of questions that make his head spin especially when they poke at a memory. People are wary of him.

Meanwhile, the twins were asked questions about their (dead) parents, and a little about their conditions. The specialists made sure to bring them back to their healthy selves and the doctors asked permission to research about their current abilities- only with a promise that it’s solely to help them control their quirks. But once they were deemed stable and harmless, they weren’t bothered anymore. Tony made sure of that. James breathes a sigh at that at least.

The days turn to weeks, and more. The local news produce rumors of either the new Avenger or the new villain but it’s shut down before it gets out of hand. The higher authorities seem very eager to drag this on with each their own ulterior motives.

It’s too loud, too crowded, complicated, and all James wants is for them to decide already. He also wants to run and hide far for the world to see.

But one Steve Rogers doesn’t give up on him.

“I’m with you ‘till the end of the line, Buck.”

 

* * *

 

 

Eighty-seven days later, he counts helplessly in his mind like a rigid reminder, James repeats the promise to himself when he wakes up in his bedroom and finds it trashed like a manic animal ripped through its walls and everything else. It’s what he keeps telling himself when the thoughts of violence overwhelm him. His life continues and the numbers in his head grow without a definite purpose. On these times, he cries silently instead because he he’s never imagined himself to be in this situation now- where he’s found bits and pieces of himself in Steve, his best pal- his brother; where he’s surrounded by people who have too much red on their ledgers but are still spending the rest of their lives making up for it; where he’s under observation and still directed with mistrust but instead of collaring him like the beast he is _(like HYDRA did),_ gives him home in the form of the Avengers Tower and a dysfunctional family who backed him up despite the world  going against them initially; where the twins’ genuine laugh and soul-warming cuddles became the life of said dysfunctional family; and where everything is still not normal but infinitely better than he deserved. He cries because he gets to have these things but he’s lost the person he knows who deserves these better than he does.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s not easy, even when it’s a hundred-forty eight days later and he’s gone a long way from being a threat to SHIELD and the Avengers. It’s not easy even when Natasha is a company he’s comfortable the most next to Steve and the twins, even when he tells the red-haired assassin of the angel he saved in that cell who ended up saving James himself in the least expected way (he even showed her the crumpled feather, and she genuinely thanked him for the show of trust). It’s not easy even when he pours all his grief to Steve, his remorse, his self-hate, and all of his broken pieces like a brother who strayed away from home for far too long who longs of familial bonds. It’s not easy, even when Tony keeps himself up at nights tracking down HYDRA like he carries James’ revenge like any sensitive-and-generous-but-trying-to-maintain-his-asshole-reputation kind of a friend would; even when Bruce relates to him out of everyone, and understands enough to give him space for his thoughts but not too much just so the mild-mannered scientist could bring him back to the surface if he gets too deep and too far out of reach.

It’s not easy but Sam helps, just as the others, to reach out to him and build him every time he- James Buchanan Barnes, the human one- breaks with every recurring nightmare and bad memory. The guy is surprisingly easy to talk compared to the psychologists assigned to him. It’s not easy but the twins do not hesitate to step in, calling him by his name, and giving him hugs and cuddles with a startling determination saying, “We’ve made a promise too. To cupid.” And it makes sense to James, because he’s always wanted to ask, why they stayed by him despite their initial mistrust to anyone related to HYDRA.

It’s not easy, but they help, and most of all Clint helped. He knows that if he was the same man before meeting the caged angel he wouldn’t have known to open himself to others, much less willingly build a connection with anyone or even care for anyone else like he does to the twins.

 

* * *

 

 

The warmth he’s lost is replaced. James is reminded of this every time Wanda crawls with her tiny limbs up to his bed, tugging his brother along, and hogs the space under his armpit as she sleeps. He’s reminded of this when Pietro beams at him, even though he’s a blur, barrelling towards him like a silver ball of energy and rambling incoherently about learning baseball or the latest toy car Uncle(!) Tony made for him.

“Uncle?”

“Yeah! I can’t call him ‘old man’ coz you’re older than everyone except for maybe Steve. You’re ‘old man’!” the silver-haired boy grins proudly, practically bouncing on his heels now that James holds the other by the shoulder for good measure.

He raises an eyebrow, fully knowing of the said billionaire doubling over with undisguised laughter. “You don’t call Steve ‘old man’.”

Pietro tilts his head, “Well, he’s reaallly cool. He’s Captain America! But you’re always pouting and- what’s the word? Uhhhh—“

“Grumpy?” _(Not you, Bruce)_

“Lame?” _(Tony, you little shit)_

“Broody?” _(Nat, you traitor)_

“…Yeah! Broody! You’re like Pumpkin, you always glare and scowl at everything.” The boy explains, words stampeding over each other.

“But Pumpkin is cute ‘cos she’s a cat and Aunt Pepper said all cats are cute.” Wanda adds, peeking from Thor’s shoulder, the god grinning at the child riding on his back like he agrees. Which he probably does. Thor hasn’t been in the Tower until a week before but he, like every other adult in the Tower, seems to be already wrapped around the twins’ fingers. 

“You don’t think I’m cute?” James deadpans.

“You’re not a cat.” Wanda seriously adds in once more, while his brother chimed in at the exact moment, “No, you’re already ‘old man’ to us first, and everyone else I know are uncles and aunts!”

He’s aware of Sam joining Tony on the floor laughing their guts out.

 

* * *

 

Three-hundred-thirty-four days later, James holds a sniper gun courtesy of Tony’s genius mechanic mind. It feels foreign. It feels heavy and it fits right in his palms. The sensors of his metal arm hum pleasantly, and the first shot he makes saves a middle-aged man who was too slow to move out of the danger perimeter.

The feeling creeps up to him and sinks to his core. He doesn’t make the shot any different from the way he plants a bullet to a HYDRA agent, but he feels strange. This must be what Nat tells him about cleaning the red in one’s ledger. Nevertheless, he reaches inside the small pocket on his vest, the one near his heart, and presses his lips to the thumb which had grasped the feather in that small moment. Like a fervent prayer.

If Natasha notices, she wisely says nothing about it.

 

* * *

 

                                                                                                                                                                 

It’s like crawling back to the hell he just went out of, James idly thinks as he falls into step with Captain America (his best friend, his brother) but with the people watching his back just as he is to them, he finds it hard to doubt. These people may be overbearing at times, but James already knows much he can trust them (he doesn’t anymore question why). His chest pocket feels heavy today and he knows why. Yet, he doesn’t show it in his strides across the familiar halls. The mission has standard procedures that everyone else works seamlessly and it makes way for more banters and (in Tony’s case) acapella singing in the com links. It’s all good.

“Hey, Barnes. There’s a secret door to your left.” Tony’s voice sings in his ear and James rolls his eyes. Nevertheless, he heeds the advice.

“There better be something precious behind that. I bet it’s one of HYDRA’s secret weapons. Can’t seem to get a read on it somehow. Hey, I call dibs if it’s anything metal and shiny, alright?” Tony rambles like he does when he’s in a good mood. “Hello, Buckaroo. Don’t leave me hanging.”

The first thing he registers is a small cage but it doesn’t have anything metal and shiny which Tony rambles about. He sees white dusted with rust and dirt. James falls to his knees, vaguely aware of Tony’s rambles halting and urging a more serious answer now. He comes face to face to a pair of eyes; blue as he remembers. Skinny, filthy, and wounded, the person looks at him with intense blue eyes and he hears a distant clamor of chains.

“Barnes, Widow is on her way. You better be okay or Steve will make me sleep on my own couch for tonight.”

James instinctively reaches out a hand, the flesh one, tentatively touching the person behind the bars as if he’s some sort of apparition. The pocket in his vest feels heavy and now he knows why. He feels more than sees behind the blur of tears the smile that slowly spreads from the other’s face. It’s a smile he remembers, and it’s as warm as it always had been. There’s no mistaking it.

Three-hundred-sixty-five days later, he finds he finds Clint once again. And he has millions of questions, but none of them really matters. Clint is here, at the hands of HYDRA but  _he's alive and that's all that matters._ He can worry about how and why HYDRA still kept their experiment instead of killing him for obvious reasons, but all of those thoughts pale to the fact that Clint is  _not dead._

He finds himself returning that smile, and when James finally kisses Clint- he doesn’t miss this time, he goes for the other’s lips, metal bars be damned- he hears himself heave a sob through familiar fingers holding him, warming him through a hand pressed at the base of his neck. The hold tightens, desperate and longing, conveying just how much his feelings are returned. Maybe the saltiness in his cheeks is not just his, but the smile that mirrors James is definitely Clint’s.

 Three-hundred-sixty-five days later, he finds he finds his angel once again.

“Hey, James.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky: "Clint, how about don't leave me to raise kids alone next time? that's a weird way to propose. I love you, too."
> 
> So in the end Bucky gets an angel as the love of his life, a dysfunctional family of superheroes, and a pair of twins who just as well be his and Clint's own. I'm just making up for the angst I've put my bbys in this story.
> 
> I guess this ends the story, too. or not. I dunno. I have half a universe about winterhawk dads and birblings!twins inside my head but I have a feeling next semester would have me whipped so hard I may not have enough time to write all my ideas for this verse. /sigh/ 
> 
> Regardless, a great thank you to all of you wonderful beings of the universe who stuck with me until the end!! I hope you enjoyed the ride! /bows/

**Author's Note:**

> I know i should be posting for my other stories, but this monstrosity demanded to be written. As per usual, this is born out of my craving for Winterhawk feels. 
> 
> this is technically complete, so updates are quicker. 
> 
> so... chat you in the comments? tell me what you think!
> 
> Edit 09/27/16: for adding and deleting some tags. I got an email with a comment earlier, and it got deleted on its own?? Anyways, I won't mention the anyone, but I owe you a thank you for putting your two cents on this fic. I did what you requested on the tags, and I'm sorry I didn't tag properly T-T. As for the cliché-ness of the story and the feeling of it being rushed or ended half-assedly - yes, I mean it to be cliché. But I planned and absolutely mean every bit of this story so I guess I have nothing to change about this. I am so sorry for disappointing you. I still appreciate your commentary :) 
> 
> To everyone reading this, I didn't write this beforehand, but I encourage this: Do not hesitate to voice your opinions on this fic, as long as you do not forget your tact and manners, please. Thank you :)


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